


celestially written

by aetherae



Series: a little bit of momentum [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Ensemble Cast, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), That's it. That's the fic., the garreg mach gossip gang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetherae/pseuds/aetherae
Summary: Dimitri and Claude are in love. Naturally, everyone else speculates about them. They all mean well, of course. It’s just that they’re, y’know. A lot.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: a little bit of momentum [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885954
Comments: 15
Kudos: 112





	celestially written

**Author's Note:**

  * For [straylize](https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylize/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALY!!! this year i actually made it on time, can you believe it... anyways we've already talked about like half these scenarios anyways, but i thought it might be fun/you'd enjoy it if it was written out in more detail. if nothing else, at least this is an organized way to keep track of all the one-off scenes we've mentioned LOL. i hope you have a great happy bappy, and here's hoping that you enjoy this at least a little bit. i love u!!!!
> 
> as for this fic itself: i'm sorry to anyone reading this expecting 14k of sweet, sweet dmcl serotonin because this is not actually that. this is 14k of everyone gossiping ABOUT dmcl with very little actual dmcl content in it. sometimes... it just be like that.... if you're willing to sit through that though, the least i can do is provide some context for this au.
> 
> \- claude finds dimitri at the goddess tower instead of byleth (who is still mia)  
> \- when fleche tries to off dimitri at gronder, claude takes the hit but lives because i said so. rodrigue's alive and kicking dw  
> \- dimitri is dense. claude has the patience of a saint. they are In Love.
> 
> and that's about it! if this somehow still appeals to you, well... welcome to verdant moon "dimitri and claude invented love and romance in fodlan" azure wind route y'all.

“Hilda, I’m really not sure about this…”

“Shh, it’s fine, Marianne, I promise!” Hilda hushes her, arms spread out to keep Marianne from pushing forward. Some odd feet ahead of them, Dimitri holds up Claude in his arms as the latter continues to bleed from a non-fatal stab wound, but if the way those two are looking at each other says anything, this is _so_ not the time to interrupt them. Claude’s tougher than he looks, and Dimitri—well, what else is there even left to say about the guy? Up until that Fleche girl appeared out of nowhere, she didn’t even think anything _could_ kill Dimitri.

The point is, it’s fine. The two of them might look like equal parts shit and exhausted (and, dare she think it, _intimate_ ), but neither of them will die from their wounds. That much she’s certain of.

Mercedes frowns, hands clasped together tightly in front of her while Marianne fidgets, but she turns to Dedue with the same furrow in her brow. “Is this really alright, Dedue? Even if there’s nothing life-threatening, they need healing, the both of them. I’m not even sure how Dimitri’s still standing.”

Dedue nods, turning to look towards the two leaders of their army. Claude cups Dimitri’s face in his hand and leans nearly all his weight against Dimitri, looking into Dimitri’s gaze all the while. Dedue is positive his liege doesn’t even notice the extra weight though, too preoccupied with clutching Claude’s hand against his face as if his very life depends on it, hanging onto every word he says with just as much desperation. It is, admittedly, perhaps the worst place possible to have any kind of discussion, but even from here amongst the burning fields of Gronder, he can see a light coming back into Dimitri’s gaze that hasn’t been there in five long years.

“They will be fine. We simply need to give them a moment.”

Honestly, Hilda wishes they were at least close enough to hear just what was going on in this ‘moment,’ if only so she’d have a better idea of when they could get the hell out of there. The empire made their retreat already, and they managed to take down all of the demonic beasts those creepy mages set loose, but she really does _not_ want to find out if these burning fields have any more surprise monsters or would-be assassins. Dedue keeps his eyes on the two in front of them and their immediate surroundings while she looks around for any other potential threats in the surrounding area, as does the rest of their army still scattered about. 

It feels as though hours pass, although in reality, Dedue knows it could only be a few minutes at most. Hilda has to wave Marianne off from casting Physic at least twice. However long it takes, both retainers know that the job is done when Claude sinks into Dimitri’s arms—into his embrace really, there’s no other way to describe the way Dimitri all but cradles Claude—eyes closed, a smile on both their faces.

“Alright, that’s our cue! Get going ladies, go, go, go!”

All four of them rush over though, Marianne and Hilda carefully extricating Claude out of Dimitri’s arms while the seemingly-sane prince slumps against Dedue for support, not even noticing as Mercedes presses her hands against his wounds in a healing spell. It’s not long before Dimitri passes out as well, but by then, more of their army has caught up enough to help transport their two unconscious leaders back to camp. Somewhere else, Rodrigue and Gilbert make the arrangements to properly retreat, and Hilda and Dedue are left to guard their respective lords in the meantime.

Hilda sighs. Because of the war, this battle specifically, or whatever that little display back there was, she doesn’t know, but she sighs all the same. “That was _exhausting_.”

“It was,” Dedue agrees. He pauses though, looking back over at Dimitri and Claude both. Even in separate cots and healers working in between them, the two of them are turned as if to face one another. He smiles. “However, I believe things will only become more so.”

She blanches for a moment, right up until she sees his smile and looks over to where his gaze points at. Her laugh draws a look from more than one medic, but she can’t help herself. Who would’ve guessed Dedue could be funny?

“You know what? I think you’re right.”

* * *

The moment Dimitri and Claude make their way out of the dining hall, Annette wastes no time in picking up her tray of food and hurrying over to where Hilda and Lorenz sit, practically slamming it down in front of them from her sheer excitement.

“ _Please_ tell me that you guys saw all that!”

“Uh, how could we _not_?” Hilda says, still staring after where their two army leaders left. “As if Dimitri wasn’t blinding enough with his hair pulled back like that—I knew he turned into a real hunk, but how could he just hide that face from us this whole time? Unbelievable!—but the way _Claude_ was looking at him? Did you see the way he smiled? I don’t even use glasses, and I’m still not sure I can believe what I just saw. Maybe Dimitri really did blind me.”

Lorenz shakes his head, his meal entirely forgotten after the sight they all just witnessed. “No, no, you saw quite right, Hilda. After all, I saw just the same thing. Honestly, I didn’t even know Claude could _look_ like that.”

“And I haven’t seen His Highness look so happy in such a long time,” Ashe says, having trailed behind Annette after she zipped on over here. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve seen him look that happy _ever_.”

“It has been quite a while,” Dedue chimes in. Hilda has no idea where he even came from, but if Dedue of all people is saying that? Dimitri’s a total _goner_ for Claude, there’s no two ways about it.

Soon enough though it feels like half the dining hall joins in, either others who witnessed the whole event themselves or friends that were passing by and dropped in after overhearing all the hullabaloo. It’s hard to blame anyone’s passing curiosity; with how many of them there are, there’s a whole storm of gossip and conversation. Besides, they were all probably still students the last time the place was this lively, and every single one of them knows it. The fact that they all have a war council to attend in about half an hour or so makes the whole thing even more weirdly nostalgic, like when they’d squeeze in one last bit of conversation before their next class. Being under a time crunch means everyone is all the more eager to share their thoughts on what just happened.

“But if they are already sharing the same feelings,” Petra asks, brow furrowed as she tries to understand Fódlan’s courting customs. They seem even more bizarre than she initially realized, “why are they not being together?”

Dorothea shakes her head with a smile, laughing as she reminisces. “Oh, don’t you remember? Dimitri was always the modest sort when we were students, and I’d say it’s the same even now. If he wants to make a move, he probably thinks it’s entirely too improper, or something along those lines.”

“ _Modest_?” Sylvain snorts. She’s right about that of course, but they have a bigger problem on their hands. “More like plain old _dense_. Even if His Highness hadn’t been completely out of touch with his emotions for the last five years, he still wouldn’t get it. Hell, I’d bet that he doesn’t even know how bad he has it.”

“Really? But the way he was looking at Claude…” Marianne trails off. It’s not her place to say to begin with, and she wouldn’t consider herself as having any kind of experience or understanding when it comes to things like love or romance, but, well. Even she thought it seemed plain on both men’s faces.

Ingrid can only sigh. There are too many times she recalls where certain things just seemed to fly right by Dimitri’s head, and she’s barely any better with that herself. “No, he has a point. His Highness can be honest to a fault, but that doesn’t always mean he understands what he’s being honest about himself…”

“Then what about Claude?” Felix grumbles, but given that he’s made the choice to remain sitting here rather than get up and walk away from the topic like he could’ve at any time, it’s hard not to see that he has at least _some_ interest in it. Not that anyone says that out loud (for now). “If he just says something himself they can end this whole charade, and we don’t have to sit here subjected to whatever that all was again.”

Leonie raises her brow. “With how close he keeps things to his chest? I doubt it. You could pin him down with an arrow in the wall, and he _still_ wouldn’t give you a direct answer, not even if his life depended on it. If anything happens between those two, I think it’s gotta be Dimitri who makes a move first.”

And so it goes back and forth between all of them. Who’ll make a move first, what the move will be, _when_ the move will be—and that’s when things ramp up.

“I mean, it could be soon, yeah?” Hapi suggests. She’s not normally one for these kinds of conversations in general, but she can’t deny that it’s actually kind of fun. Besides, even if the whole thing on Gronder was kind of out of left field, the more she thinks about it, the more Didi and Claudester kind of just… make sense, together. “Not that it’s really any of our business, but those two sure made a bland dining hall meal _intense_.”

Flayn clasps her hands together, shaking her head furiously while somehow also looking starry-eyed. Hilda has the distinct feeling that this would not be a Seteth-approved conversation for his sister to take part in. “Oh, but would it not be romantic if their love developed over a much longer period of time? The two of them, their feelings mutual but unbeknownst to each other, unable for one reason or another to do more than share longing glances or wistful sighs…”

“Pining does make for some of the best parts in all the great stories,” Ashe adds. He means it as a joke more than anything else, but the more he thinks about it… “Actually, I’m willing to bet something will happen after Enbarr. There’s nothing more romantic than a grand declaration of love right after winning a decisive battle, right?”

“Ohh, you’re right, Ashe! Ending the war with such a grand gesture would be perfect!” Ingrid looks just about as starry-eyed as Flayn now, her and Ashe excited as ever when things line up similarly to their favorite chivalrous tales.

Balthus laughs, loud and booming enough to shake just about the whole table. “Well if we’re putting money down, then count me in! After how long they’ve already spent together, they’ll be an item by the end of the week, tops.”

For one brief, disbelieving moment, every single one of them is silent.

“Baltie. Are you serious?”

“Yeah, why not? Raising the stakes a bit with some money never hurt anyone,” he says, eyes closed and arms folded as he nods sagely, even though Hilda wasn’t asking about putting money down in the first place— “It’ll be fun for everyone!”

Caspar bangs his fist on the table, laughing just as loudly as Balthus. Vaguely, Linhardt notes to himself with surprise that it’s a wonder they haven’t all been kicked out yet. “Yeah, I want in on this too! Put me down for… By the end of two—no, three weeks! That's long enough to get together, right?”

Because interest in money or not, bets or not, _everyone_ knows to steer clear of whatever Balthus puts his money on.

Prepared as ever, Annette takes out a notebook and pencil to record the bets while Hilda laughs, diligently going around the table for everyone who wants to participate. Not everyone does which is totally fine (no matter how she tries to convince Marianne it’ll be fun if she does, she could turn a huge profit!), and some people put down what even she thinks is a crazy amount of money for something only meant for fun (Baltie’s a lost cause, but Sylvain’s just way too overconfident). When she gets to Yuri though, he simply smiles, bright and a little sharp.

“I’ll get back to you on that. Give me three days.”

She balks, and so does the rest of the table. “Three days? For what? This is all just for fun and games, you know.”

“Sure, sure, but I need some intel first if I’m going to put any money down. You don’t win without knowing the odds.” Constance and Lorenz both gasp in disbelieving outrage, and Hapi’s snort cuts clear through all the other talking. He really can be cutthroat when he wants to be, that Yuri. Hilda shrugs, shaking her head in amusement.

“Suit yourself, then.”

Three days later in the dining hall once more, Yuri sits himself in front of Hilda with a wicked gleam in his eyes. She raises her brow at that, but it works out well enough. It turns out they’re heading for Fhirdiad rather than Enbarr now, not that anyone is surprised—most of the former Blue Lions seem overjoyed, even—and she gets the feeling some will want to adjust their bet placements accordingly. Lysithea already has, for one.

She folds her hands in front of her, resting her chin atop them. “So, ready for your bet now?”

“I am,” Yuri says as he takes out a rather fat-looking coin purse. Slowly but surely the others start to gather around, all eager to see the result of Yuri’s three days of preparations. “And I’m placing three bets.”

She blinks. “ _Three_? This whole thing is just about _when_ Claude and Dimitri get together, how can you place three different bets on that?”

“I would’ve thought you were savvier than that, Hilda. There are stages when it comes to relationships, after all. So!” He takes out a tall stack of coins and pushes it towards her. “This is for when they first kiss.” Yuri pauses, reaching into his purse and pulling out another, even taller, stack of coins. “For when they say, ‘I love you,’ to one another.” And then finally, ridiculously, she doesn’t even know where he gets it from, he pulls out an entire large bullion. “And for when they get married.”

Hilda’s jaw drops open. Somewhere at the table, Sylvain chokes on his drink, and Flayn gasps so loudly Hilda thinks her ears split. The stunned silence, or stunned ‘various cacophony of surprised noises,’ only lasts for a moment before Raphael breaks it with a loud, hearty laugh.

“Wow, glad I’m not the only one who thinks they’ll tie the knot! Put me down for that one, too!”

Ashe frowns thoughtfully, his hand at his chin. “But don’t you think those first two things will happen at the same time anyways? Or if not, shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Trust me on this one, Ashe.” Yuri’s grin edges towards something sharper, and while Hilda has no intention of changing her own bet (a messy confession that leads to an even messier makeout session a month-and-a-half from now), the sheer confidence he exudes almost makes her consider it. Almost. “After all my research, there’s only one way this can all go.”

_That_ launches a whole new round of conversation at the table. Constance seems like she’s on the verge of changing her own bet (two years from now, during the winter solstice, as per traditional Faerghus courting customs dictate) out of sheer indignant spite towards Yuri’s confidence. Mercedes, either for clarification for herself or because she just _knows_ it’ll stir up yet another storm of debate at the table, asks what exactly counts as Dimitri and Claude being “together.” Ignatz, for his part, looks absolutely _lost_ on how this whole discussion has turned out, and poor Cyril looks just plain exhausted, probably ready to leave the table entirely if not for how Lysithea drags him back down to his seat by the sleeve.

Hilda giggles at all the whirlwind talking, leaning back slightly in her seat as she subtly turns to Dedue next to her and asks, “Not putting down a bet yourself, Dedue? There’s still time if you want to.”

“No, I will not,” he says with a shake of his head. She’d be more surprised if he did in all honesty, but that’s Dimitri’s best friend for you. “However, I do not mind being present for discussions regarding this betting pool. It is… rather fun, hearing everyone’s support for the two of them.”

“Isn’t it though? The goddess knows we could all probably do with some fun in this war.” Gossiping over Claude and Dimitri like they’re all still students isn’t exactly how she would’ve chosen to have a bit of fun, but Hilda knows to take what she can get. It’s all in good faith anyways, and there’s something sort of heartening to know that just about _everyone_ here is rooting for those two. Not a single one of them even bets _against_ the relationship happening, it’s only a question of when. “But I guess it’s only fair that you sit this out. You know Dimitri so well, you probably have the biggest unfair advantage for knowing just when things will pan out.”

He doesn’t respond to that, only giving a small, barely-there smile, which Hilda takes to mean that she’s absolutely right. Honestly, it’s pretty generous of Dedue to have mercy on the rest of them and not sweep the whole house clean right off the bat.

But she sighs, waving over Annette and Lorenz to record the bets and figure out just where they’re even putting all this money. It’s work to be sure, but she’s willing to make an exception for it this one single time. Before long, Annette shuts her notebook with a decisive snap, and Lorenz makes the arrangements to have every bit of gold stored securely. Hilda looks back at the rest of the table with a satisfied smile.

“Alright, everyone. The game is officially on.”

* * *

“That would be a breach of patient confidentiality, you know.”

“It’s not a breach in confidentiality if Dimitri’s already told me a bit himself, right?” Claude asks, easy grin in place as always. From his casual tone, Manuela could almost think he was asking about the weather, or an old class lesson, rather than if the man he loved was on his way to an early grave. “As the other leader of this ragtag group, I don’t think it can really hurt for me to know. It’s for the good of the army, if we can make sure Dimitri’s staying in tip-top shape.”

Manuela resists the urge to snort in her seat. ‘For the good of the army,’ honestly, who does Claude think he’s kidding? After their little display back at Gronder Field, just about everyone knows there must be _something_ going on between him and Dimitri. She hadn’t even been there to see it herself, but she didn’t need to. Just seeing how the two of them act around each other now that they’re back at the monastery tells enough. Claude may have never been the easiest person to read, but he’s young. Even if Manuela’s never had it herself, she’s all too familiar with what it looks like when someone’s in love, and she’s been around the block long enough to see all the different ways love presents itself.

She knows it. Everyone knows it. Claude himself must know that _everyone_ knows, so really, she just doesn’t understand why he bothers with the pretense. 

But that’s not any of her business, she supposes. Dimitri’s health, on the other hand—well, as his physician at the moment, that certainly is. As horrifying as he’d been after their reunion at the monastery, the efforts he’s made to better himself in the short time since Gronder are already remarkable. It would be a shame for a good man trying so hard to die too soon.

She sighs.

“Then I’ll be frank and tell you what I told him. At this rate, it’ll be a miracle if Dimitri sees his thirtieth birthday.”

The man’s an absolute beast on the battlefield, and his Crest certainly helps with that, but youthful energy only lasts for so long. She doesn’t know the details of how he lived during these past five years, but his body alone paints a clear enough picture—some of the nastiest scars she’s ever seen, the _most_ she’s ever seen on one person for sure, his muscles doing nothing to hide how malnourished he is. With the wounds he had, the infections and fevers he must have contracted, that would’ve been enough to kill a regular man thrice over. She can’t even imagine how he managed to survive losing his eye without any proper treatment. That Dimitri lived to tell the tale all because of sheer will alone is as awe-inspiring as it is terrifying.

To his credit, if Claude feels any alarm or dread at that news, it doesn’t show. His brow simply furrows, mouth a thin line set in grim understanding. 

“What can we do for him then? To improve his chances.”

“ _We_ can't do much of anything, unfortunately. Magic and medicine can’t undo how he’s abused his body for the last five years straight.” She sighs again. It’s not that she enjoys being the bearer of bad news, but her hands are tied. There’s no healing the kind of damage that’s been done, at least not within her infirmary, and this has to be one of the best within all of Fódlan. “He needs to eat. He needs to _sleep_. He needs to not overexert himself by throwing himself into the frontlines of every battle.” 

And that’s just about impossible, which is why she stands by what she said. At this rate, it’ll be a miracle if Dimitri lives to see thirty, because at this rate, there’s not much fixing the things that are destroying his body. Even putting aside his position as future king and one of the leaders of their army—the stress that must leave him with, his days so packed she can tell he barely sleeps—he’s one of the greatest assets they have on the battlefield. They all know that, Dimitri himself most of all. The grimace he made when she suggested, as his physician, that he _not_ fight on the frontlines said enough.

There’s nothing she can say that would soften the blow of knowing Dimitri’s well on his way to dying young, but despite her bleak news, Claude never despairs. Looking at him now, she wouldn’t think he was the boy who was always too ready to make a tactical retreat, whose prying questions often seemed out of careless curiosity rather than concern. No, Manuela looks at him and sees a man in love, determined to beat the odds.

“I’d like to ask for your help then, Manuela.”

She blinks, gesturing with her hand. “I’m not sure what I could help you with, given the prognosis I just gave, but go on.”

“There’s no doubt you’re a talented physician, but there’s a whole _world_ of knowledge out there that we don’t know about. We have no idea what places like Brigid, or Morfis, or Albinea are doing with medicine.” It’s almost strange seeing Claude like this, she has to admit. Manuela doesn’t attend the war councils often, too busy with seeing patients and preparing the infirmary for whatever upcoming battle lies ahead, but she imagines Claude must be something like this during them. Determined, impassioned, a fire in his eyes he forgets to hide when speaking of his cause. “I’m not knowledgeable enough in the topic to parse through it on my own, but if I can get my hands on some texts, would you be willing to help me look through them? If there’s even the slightest chance of finding something that can help Dimitri and improve his chances, I want to find it.”

“You’re searching for a needle in a haystack, Claude. There’s no guarantee that research will even amount to anything.” Maybe the years have made her harder, but it’s just the simple truth. They have a fifty-fifty shot on finding anything that could help Dimitri. Rather than searching for potentially impossible cures, that time could be spent better making sure the man gets as much rest as possible.

But then again, maybe the years have made her softer instead. This war has stolen the lives of enough young men and women. She doesn’t intend to let it steal anymore than it has to, not if she can help it.

Besides, no matter that love has burned her more times than she can count, she can’t help but feel for them. It’s not every day someone like Claude begs almost desperately for help, all to save the man he loves.

She smiles, somewhere between exasperated and amused at herself. What can she say? She’s rooting for them.

“But I suppose it can't hurt to look, can it? Alright.” The relief and hope in his eyes are so palpable, sincere even. It’s a good look on him. “If you can get me those texts, I’ll help you look through them. It would be a shame if we lost someone so handsome so soon, you know?”

Claude smiles back—and she’d even bet that the gratitude in it is genuine.

* * *

They’re sewing together for once, which Mercedes finds truly surprising. Dimitri says he tends to find it calming these days, and he is much better than in comparison to their time as students. They’ve been mending garments for the better part of an hour now without a single bent or broken needle in sight. With how steady he is with his stitches, it finally makes sense to her how he managed to get such a magnificent cape even in the midst of a war.

When she thinks about the likely cause for his improvement though—all on his own for five years fighting battle after battle after battle, the amount of scars she’s seen decorating his hands alone... Well. She just wishes he could have had a better reason to improve his sewing skills. 

“It’s such a lovely day to be outside, don’t you think?” she asks, setting down her sewing for a moment to enjoy the spring breeze in the air. Being so high up in the mountains, the air always feels nice at Garreg Mach, but there’s something about the wind blowing through the gazebo that she always finds to be particularly lovely.

Dimitri smiles, polite as always, yet a little more relaxed in comparison to even just a week ago. Bit by bit, he seems to be settling back into himself. “I have to agree. The late springtime weather at the monastery has always been quite pleasant.”

Mercedes beams. “Exactly. It’s not too hot, not too cold, and there’s just the right amount of sun to help me concentrate and keep me from dozing off.”

“That almost sounds like something Linhardt would say… Or something he would complain about, rather.”

They continue on with their sewing companionably, either in comfortable silence or with easy conversation drifting in and out. Their only interruptions are the admittedly many couples that walk by the gazebo, tea sets in hand as they step foot through the clearing in the hedges only to see the two of them sitting and hastily turning around, apologizing for bothering them before scurrying out. At one point, even Lysithea and Cyril nearly walk in, at least until Lysithea turns beet red and drags Cyril back from continuing forward, leaving the poor boy to balance their tray of tea and sweets on his own.

After already seeing so many couples have their teatime plans thwarted, however unintentionally by her and Dimitri, Mercedes can’t stop herself from giggling, pausing her sewing as she raises her hand to her mouth.

“Well now, perhaps this weather is perfect for more than just sewing!”

“Perhaps so.” He pauses, staring at the exit from where the two fled, looking almost curious as his hands still in their work. “I’m a little surprised though. The fact that some people can manage to find happiness like that even amidst a war… It’s almost inspiring, in some ways.”

“It certainly is. Happiness can be so fleeting, so we may as well grab it when the opportunity presents itself,” she says, but Dimitri only nods silently, almost absent-mindedly. Mercedes simply smiles, thinking that he would find happiness right in front of him already, if he only knew how to look. Or maybe if he knew _who_ to look to. Claude would appreciate it if Dimitri did, that much is for sure.

She’s sat down with Annie for the betting pool more than once, having enough fun just watching the others discuss it. The whole thing is in good nature after all, and it makes her happy to know how Dimitri and Claude both have so much support. Still, despite Hilda’s needling and Annie asking for advice on her own bet placement, she has no intention of placing one down herself. If the two former house leaders find themselves together, they’ll do so when the time is right, not a moment sooner or later. There’s no need to rush them.

But, she supposes there’s no harm in seeing where things stand either.

“You know, I’m sure finding that kind of happiness wouldn’t be so difficult if you wanted, Dimitri. Has no one approached you at all?”

He blinks. “Me? Oh, no, certainly not. I would not expect anyone to, considering… Well, considering my previous behavior. Besides, I…” Dimitri trails off, his gaze averting sheepishly—no, ashamed. “I am not sure I would deserve such a thing.”

She hums, finally picking her sewing back up. “I think only the goddess can know what we truly deserve. To want happiness for yourself isn’t a crime in and of itself.” He remains silent at that, slowly stitching a shirt back together, but it’s alright. Instead, she smiles. “Still, I’m surprised! With how striking your features are, I can’t believe no one’s approached you before.”

“Mercedes, please. I doubt my features are so pleasant as all that,” he says, his tone somewhere between mild exasperation and reluctant self-consciousness. There’s a faint flush to his cheeks though, a somewhat distant look in his eye as if he were recalling something else. Maybe it’s just a hunch, but she thinks whatever he’s recalling must involve Claude.

“Come now, there’s no need to put yourself down so. You’ve become much more handsome ever since you started putting your hair up. It’s so nice being able to see your face.” His flush deepens even further, and Mercedes thinks back to that exciting day at the dining hall when Dimitri first walked in with his new hairstyle with Claude right by his side. Her smile widens, just a little sly. “Hmm, but if that’s the case, maybe it’s because you’re already interested in someone yourself? Let’s see here… Oh, I know! Claude is quite handsome, wouldn’t you say?”

Dimitri stares at her, mouth hanging open. She thinks his needle might have snapped in half between his fingers, and unsurprisingly, his flush turns beet red. Truthfully though, he doesn’t seem so much embarrassed as he does… confused. Conflicted.

“— _What_?”

Just as she thought, then. It’s too soon.

She smothers another giggle behind her hand, grinning as she sets out another needle on the table for Dimitri to use. “Oh, never mind me. You know how my thoughts tend to run away from me at times. Now then, let’s see if we can finish all this before supper, shall we?”

“Right…” he mumbles, trailing off as he threads his new needle. She thinks he’ll let the conversation end there, and she has no problem with that. That’s more than enough prying from her for one day, even if she means well. To her surprise though, just as he begins stitching, he says, “He is handsome though. In a general sense, I mean. Anyone would know that just from looking at him.”

Focused on the garment as he is, Dimitri can’t see the way the corners of her lips twitch, her knowing smile as serene as a saint’s. “Yes, I’m sure they do.”

It’s no business of hers to begin with, and really, the exact timing of when Dimitri comes to understand his own heart or he and Claude profess their feelings for each other doesn’t concern Mercedes, not when they both honestly and mutually care for one another—but it’s most definitely a when, not an if. And if she had to guess when herself?

Not yet, but not too long at all.

* * *

“You can stay for as long as you like. Whenever you like.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Sylvain whispers, and he immediately slaps his hand over his mouth for it. In no way did he mean for that to slip out; he didn’t even mean to say anything at all. But when Dimitri more or less invited Claude to spend the night in his room? Whenever he wanted, at that? And entirely _platonically_ , it seems? Well, just what else was Sylvain supposed to do?

Probably _not_ eavesdrop on his childhood friend and the apparent-object of his affection, to be fair, but this isn’t the first night Sylvain’s woken up because of Dimitri’s frequent nightmares. They’re not usually so bad that Dimitri wakes up with a literal shout, but the few times they are, he sticks close to the wall just to check on things—mainly in the hopes that Dimitri manages to fall back asleep without muttering to himself and the thin air around him. He’s thought again and again about knocking on Dimitri’s door himself to see how he’s doing, but… Well. It never helped so much when they were younger, back when the Tragedy of Duscur was still fresh, and he knows what his childhood friend is like. Dimitri would rather no one know about his nightmares, and he’s always respected that.

Though it seems like all bets are off for Dimitri when it comes to Claude. The privileges Claude gets when Dimitri’s over-the-moon smitten with the guy, honestly, even if he _still_ hasn’t seemed to recognize that himself. Sylvain listens in for a moment longer—he really was concerned about Dimitri, but he can admit that overhearing the two’s conversation has been _riveting_ , he has an absolutely insane story to tell Hilda now—but if they’re still speaking, it’s too quiet for him to make out. He knows that even in his shock he kept his voice low, but he wouldn’t be surprised if either of them heard him because of it.

And that’s completely fair. No matter his (mostly) good intentions, the two deserve their privacy. Sylvain heads back to bed without any worries, knowing that his friend is in good hands. He may not be the closest with Claude, but he can see the guy’s just as crazy about Dimitri as Dimitri is about him. Claude will take good care of him.

But that’s why Felix wakes up early—well, earlier than he’d planned, anyways. Everyone knows he’s usually the first one at the training hall and the last person to leave it. That kind of scheduling requires plenty of early mornings and lots of discipline, the kind most people groan about.

Still, he wakes up even earlier than he wanted all thanks to the pounding at his door and Sylvain hollering through it at whatever unholy hour it is right now.

“Felix, wake up! I need to talk to you!”

He all but wrenches his door open, glare set in place before he even sees Sylvain himself. Seeing the bright, excited smile Sylvain wears just makes him glare even harder, and he mutters through clenched teeth, “ _What_.”

“Did you hear what happened last night?”

He pauses.

Felix did, in fact, hear what happened last night. It was hard not to when Dimitri shouted as loud as he did, as if he really was a boar the way Felix used to call him. He also heard the way Claude started knocking on Dimitri’s door—at a respectable volume, thankfully, even if his sleep was already ruined for the night—worrying after the man after presumably passing by. He heard the way Dimitri opened his door eventually, could tell that Claude stepped inside, and at that point, willed himself back to sleep before he could overhear anything he didn’t want to.

Dimitri’s nightmares weren’t anything new, and he’d woken up more times than he cared to count because of them. As far as he could tell though, the future king of Faerghus was _actually_ starting to figure out how to take care of himself instead of ranting and raving at empty space the way he did before. Usually after a nightmare of his, either silence would befall the room soon enough, or he’d hear Dimitri step out of his room for fresh air, or a walk, or sometimes even the training hall. Those times, Felix found himself dressing to head there as well on the pretext of needing extra practice. Dimitri never asked him about the odd hour he picked to train, and he never asked Dimitri about the nightmares that drove him there in the first place. It worked out fine.

Last night obviously hadn’t been the same. If Claude wanted to volunteer for taking care of Dimitri—the way he had ever since this ragtag army got together for the Millennium Festival, he supposes—then that was fine by him. Felix had been there for the formation of the betting pool, although he had no interest in putting down money himself, and from what he can tell himself and what the others had to say, Claude’s intentions towards Dimitri seem… fine. There’s no question that he’s good for Dimitri, but he also seems good _to_ Dimitri. Felix could acknowledge that those are probably the most important things in whatever relationship they have.

And that’s where he draws the line. He wants absolutely no part in _anyone’s_ love lives, least of all the friends he’s known since childhood. So he keeps that all to himself, ignoring the way Sylvain’s obviously fishing for someone to gossip with, and gives his most disdained, reserved-for-Sylvain, groan.

“No, I didn’t,” he lies flatly. Sylvain’s mouth drops open, clearly not believing him, but Felix continues on before he can get a word in. “If something _did_ happen though, I’m sure Hilda or Lorenz would love to hear it. Go gossip with them. Bye.”

Felix slams the door in Sylvain’s face, and Sylvain—well, he’ll drag Felix’s opinions about the whole thing sooner or later, but Felix wasn’t lying about one thing at least. Hilda and Lorenz would _definitely_ love to hear it.

He finds them soon enough in the dining hall despite the early hour, Lorenz looking as prim and posh as ever while Hilda must’ve surely been dragged out of bed. Whatever reason they have for being up so early, he considers it either a stroke of luck or proof that the goddess loves a bit of well-meaning, slightly nosy gossip. Sylvain slides into the seat across from them with no hesitation, smiling wide and bright.

“You guys are never gonna believe what I found out.”

“This better be good, Sylvain,” Hilda groans, her usual cheerful attitude nowhere to be found for once. She even _slouches_ for a second.

“Enough, Hilda, we’ve too much work to do for you to be complaining already,” Lorenz says with a sigh, carefully setting down his teacup with a delicate clink. “Now then, Sylvain, just what was it that you wished to share with us?”

“Seriously, Hilda, I think you’re gonna love this.” She folds her arms at that, brow raised, but she doesn’t sigh again at least, and he takes that as a sign to continue. “Dimitri and Claude shared a _bed_ last night—”

It’s a good thing Lorenz put his tea down. If he’d been in the middle of drinking it when Sylvain shared his news, he’s positive that it would’ve been sprayed all over him just then given the pure outlandish shock on Lorenz’s face. Or maybe he would’ve sprayed tea all over Sylvain from surprise because of how suddenly and loudly Hilda downright _squeals_.

“ _What_?!”

Here’s the kicker though. “—but platonically. I think they slept together platonically. As in they just slept next to each other.”

The light goes out in Hilda’s eyes, her revived, cheery disposition gone in the span of a single blink. Even Lorenz looks a bit dismayed despite how taken aback he was just a moment ago.

“—What.”

Sylvain relays the whole story—or as much as he’s comfortable with sharing, anyways. Everyone wants to know what the deal is between Dimitri and Claude of course, but he’s not about to blab to everyone how his friend has struggled with nightmares for years either. Even without all the details, Hilda finds it just as ridiculous as he thought she would. Lorenz seems completely exasperated by the end, although whether from the obvious breach in propriety that usually accompanies a courting (if that’s what they’re even calling what’s going on) or because of the sheer preposterous nature of it all, Sylvain can’t tell. 

They’re in the middle of wondering together just how it’s possible that two people can be in love, sleep in the same bed together, and _not_ make a move of any sort when Dimitri and Claude both walk into the dining hall, looking the same as ever. No romantic moves or motions were made during the night then, clearly. (Although, Lorenz notes silently, both of them do look better rested than usual.)

Sylvain isn’t surprised when Claude’s gaze seems to slide right over to him, and he’s still not surprised when it sharpens by just a hair after he notes just who he’s sitting with. He doesn’t even flinch though, simply offering a bland, easy smile, cheerfully waving with the sort of blank confusion one has when they don’t know why someone is staring at them. Claude offers him the same bland, easy grin. They’re both fake as hell. When Dimitri follows his gaze and spots him sitting with the others though, he approaches quickly, his friendly and sincere smile in place as he notes his surprise that Sylvain is up so early for once.

The important thing here, Sylvain and Claude both know, is that Dimitri is none the wiser to what he overheard last night. He recognizes that Claude is generous enough, letting the lot of them have their fun with speculation and a little bit of good-natured nosiness, and Sylvain has no intention of making this uncomfortable for Dimitri anyways. So he offers Claude a friendlier grin, genuinely glad to see Dimitri looking so well-rested for once, especially after a nightmare.

Honestly speaking, as much as Sylvain would love to win the betting pool, this is enough for him. There’s nothing to worry about when Claude takes care of Dimitri so well.

* * *

The army’s been out for about a week now, still three day’s time away from Fhirdiad, although likely sooner if the weather keeps up—a sillier part of Annette is thankful that despite her earlier pleas, they made their move for Fhirdiad during the Harpstring Moon and not a colder time of year like when they all reunited—and all in all, there should be little to complain about.

There’s a lot to complain about.

“Is there a way to lock a tent?” she asks Lysithea, the two of them trying to look busy putting away supplies while furtively stealing glances at Dimitri and Claude a few paces away. The army’s been out for about a week now, which means it’s been a week since their former house leaders last shared a room, and the two look positively miserable for it.

“I’ve thought about it,” Lysithea says, nearly dropping a casket of vulneraries onto the ground, her eyes still glued to the way Dimitri and Claude obviously want to lean into each other as they speak but hold back, “but it’s pointless no matter what. Even if we somehow sewed the tent closed instantly—and I don’t doubt Mercedes’ skills, but I’m not sure she’d be willing to help—it’s only a tent. They could tear out of it in seconds. Dimitri’s so strong he could probably _breathe_ and the entire tent would collapse.”

“But you know how limited supplies are! They might not want to waste valuable resources like tents, right?”

Annette glances back over at the army leaders, the two of them looking positively _lovesick_. Her heart could break for them and how plain the longing is on their faces. Frankly, she doesn’t think either of them will survive the rest of this march if they don’t get some alone time soon.

And then Dimitri glances back at her, and she has the distinct feeling of being in a whole world of trouble.

“Annette?” he asks her, brow furrowed and mouth a thin line. For all that she’s happy to truly have her old classmate, her friend, her sort-of big brother back, she’s suddenly reminded that Dimitri is also still very much her soon-to-be _king_. “What are you still doing here? I thought you had drills to run with the mage battalions after lunchtime.”

“Um.”

Claude narrows his eyes at the both of them, and Lysithea fights back the childish urge to whistle and pretend she doesn’t recognize the knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, you too, Lysithea. Didn’t you say you were going to look over the intel reports on Cornelia?”

“Uh.”

Annette hastily shoves her box of supplies to the side, her laugh too bright and forcefully cheerful even to her own ears. Dimitri only grows more and more puzzled as she definitely undoes whatever little work she put into organizing things, but that’s better than him realizing what’s going on like Claude evidently has. The stare he levels her is somewhere between mild amusement and absolute exasperation.

“Oh, that’s right! I’m so sorry, Your Highness, I was just putting away these supplies, and— I must have lost track of time, silly me, you know? So I’ll go ahead and, um, do that right now! Please excuse me, Your Highness, you too, Claude, bye!”

“Wait, Annette—!” Lysithea calls out, but it’s too late, Annette zips off and away, leaving her alone to face the wrath of—well, just one nation leader it seems. Dimitri must have left after Annette made her escape, and when Lysithea looks back, it’s just Claude, sighing as he approaches her.

“Look, I know you guys mean well, but we’re kiiiiind of still in the middle of a war, and heading towards a major battle at that. Don’t you think you should—oh, I dunno—maybe focus on the task at hand?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve balanced tougher things than officer duties and romance gossip, you know. You don’t need to worry about me shirking my obligations or anything.”

“I’m serious, Lysithea,” he says, and while his expression doesn’t change much, his tone reminds her that Claude is Leader of the Alliance for a reason, and not just because of his blood. “If you can get any idea on what Cornelia might have waiting for us in Fhirdiad from those reports, I wanna know. She’s not an opponent we want to face unprepared.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go take a look at them now.” Claude nods, and that seems to mollify him enough, so of course she has to ask, “So, do you think anything will happen between you two after we take back Fhirdiad?”

Lysithea doesn’t _really_ expect to win the betting pool, the meager amount of gold she placed down being testament to that. Romance has never been of too much interest to her, and she has no shame in admitting that. Still, it’s always nice to have your predictions proven right.

Claude just _looks_ at her though, and she takes that as her cue to go look at the intel reports. It’s fine though. She’ll find out soon enough.

* * *

The hour is late when Dimitri finally calls an end to the meeting. His advisors leave with a respectful bow before filing out eagerly, but Dedue can’t even blame them. Rodrigue and Gilbert look weary themselves when they leave, and Sylvain flops into a nearby chair the moment the room clears out, claiming he needs to get off his feet for a few minutes before he heads back to his rooms. It’s been a long day of meetings and discussions for all of them. Despite making the arrangements to excuse himself for the morning for some well-deserved rest (and, Dedue suspects, spending time with a certain leader of the Alliance), Dimitri presses a hand to his eye in the tell-tale sign that his vision is straining. 

He brings his hand down though, heaving a sigh but smiling at the two of them. It’s a tired grin, but Dedue sees the happy gratitude in it before his liege even speaks. “Thank you both again for all of your help today, especially for this morning. I couldn’t have managed it if not for you two.”

“Aw, don’t even mention it, Your Highness. As long as you got some of that R&R you needed, that’s all the thanks I need.”

Dedue nods. The morning was taxing to be sure, but seeing Dimitri come in for the afternoon looking more refreshed and at ease than he had since they left Garreg Mach more than made up for it. “I agree. You looked quite well after your morning, and that is the most important thing.”

“Ah, well… I had a very pleasant morning,” Dimitri says, his smile turning soft, almost private in its warmth. Dedue nearly smiles himself, knowing that his friend doesn’t realize just how much his expression exposes.

Sylvain, naturally, recognizes the look for what it is, managing a teasing, knowing smile despite his exhaustion from the day. “Oh yeah? Care to tell us how you spent this morning then? I’m dying to know just what put you in such a good mood!”

“... If you really must know, I had a lovely breakfast, and then I went on a walk through the city. That’s all,” Dimitri tells them, his tone just a touch guarded.

Dedue nearly raises his eyebrow, but he refrains. Sylvain will more than likely make enough of a fuss over it for the both of them.

“Come on, that can’t really be it! Just ‘a walk through the city’ sounds like it might as well be work. You can tell me if you spent it hanging out with someone, I know how to keep a secret.”

“Sylvain.” For just two syllables, one name, the censure in Dimitri’s tone is almost palpable, that exasperation reserved just for one of his oldest friends. Dedue hasn’t heard it in several years now, and judging by Sylvain’s grin, he finds their king’s tone just as nostalgic. “I believe it is time you retire for the night. As you should already know, we have an early start tomorrow as well.”

“Alright, alright, I know when I’m being dismissed.” He stands from his seat, easy smile still in place as he waves at the two of them cheerily. “But I still expect to hear the details on your morning at some point. I’m counting on you to fill me in, Dedue!”

With a wink in his direction that Dedue can only sigh quietly at, Sylvain makes his leave. When he turns back to Dimitri, he has his hand pressed against his eye once more, exhaling a heavy sigh of his own.

“It would also do well for you to retire now, Your Highness. Straining yourself any further will do you no good.”

Dimitri smiles, albeit somewhat sheepishly as his hand settles back at his side. “You’re right, of course. I’ll be sure to get some rest soon, although… I apologize for keeping you up any later than necessary, but would you stay for a moment, Dedue? There’s a matter I would like to discuss with you.”

He nods. “Of course. What is it that you wished to discuss?”

There’s a long, long pause, and the longer the silence goes on, the more noticeable the flush on Dimitri’s face becomes. Dedue waits for him to find the words he wants to phrase the matter with, but he has a good hunch as to what this will be about already.

“—How long have you known?”

Straight to the point then. He supposes that’s for the best. Dimitri has never been one for picking up on subtler cues. “Since we reunited at the Bridge of Myrddin.”

The way Dimitri’s jaw drops, his face turning bright red—Dedue doesn’t think anyone could blame him for his soft huff of laughter.

“ _Dedue_! I can’t— How could—” Despite being a king in all but name now, Dimitri’s outrage is mitigated by how beet red his cheeks are. Dedue, as always, waits patiently, though it takes a good deal of effort not to smile as he does. He has a feeling Dimitri wouldn't appreciate it if he did. “If you’ve known all this time, why did you not tell me?”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, if I had told you then, would you have believed me? If I had told you even yesterday, would you have accepted it?”

Dimitri shuts his mouth at that, staring at him for a long, long moment. Dedue doesn’t even blink. Eventually though, his friend concedes, sitting down in a nearby chair as he drops his face into his hand with a groan.

“... I suppose I can’t really argue with you there.”

Dedue takes the seat next to him. Like this, one could almost forget that they’re in the midst of a war with the end still far from sight. It seems more like a conversation they should have been having five years ago during their days at the academy with how… normal, it actually is. For as much as Dimitri panics over this realization, he thinks it would do his friend well to simply accept this experience for what it is: one of life’s many, albeit more pleasant, surprises.

“No, I did not think you would be able to.”

The king sighs, resting his elbows against his legs and staring down at his clasped hands. “I just… don’t know what I should do, now that I understand how I feel. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

“I cannot say that I am experienced in such matters myself,” he says, thinking instead that this would probably be a more fruitful conversation for Dimitri to have with Mercedes, or maybe Annette. Ashe would also probably have something more insightful to add than he would, given the kinds of stories he loves. Dimitri has chosen him to entrust this matter with though, and he intends to answer that trust as best he can. “But it seems to me that the natural course of action would be to act on your feelings in some way. Perhaps you should tell Claude how you feel.”

Dimitri’s head whips up almost comically fast, his brow drawn together in nothing less than sheer _horror_. “You know that I trust you in all things, but—that is the worst advice you have ever given me.”

Dedue does his best to refrain from smiling again. “And why do you think that?”

“Is it not obvious?” he asks, and in some ways, Dedue supposes it is. No one likes to expose themselves or be made vulnerable, and matters of the heart are a sure way to do that. Still, with Dimitri’s tendency to bottle up every single one of his more intense feelings until they inevitably explode, Dedue doubts that he’s allowed himself much time to process his feelings entirely. Given the timing of this discussion, he likely hasn’t had the time to properly process his overdue realization in general. Verbalizing it all will help with that. “Claude is… very dear to me. I know he values my friendship, and I would not want to lose that. If I were to tell him of my feelings, I surely would.”

“You do not think he could reciprocate?”

“I don’t know, but… I think it unlikely. And if that is the case, I would rather not put him in such an awkward position. I’m not sure I could bear it if our relationship changed in such a way, if he found it difficult to speak with me after having to hear such a thing,” Dimitri says with a downcast gaze and furrowed brow, and Dedue holds back a heavy sigh. It’s good that he doesn’t shut down the prospect immediately, but he knows why it is that Dimitri can’t see what everyone else sees when Claude looks at him. Even now, his burdens leave him unable to fully accept how others care for him.

“Even if Claude did not feel similarly,” Dedue starts, although he highly, highly doubts that. If he didn’t already trust his own judgment when it came to the Alliance leader, he trusts Hilda’s if nothing else, and she’s sworn up and down that the man’s head-over-heels in love with Dimitri time and time again, “he is kind. He cares for you and watches out for you. I doubt he would be the sort of person to let something like that be enough to end a friendship, one which you said he treasures dearly himself.”

He listens silently, gaze still intense as he stares downward, but eventually his brow unfurrows. Something close to relief colors his smile, although Dedue can still see the nervous tension in his shoulders. “You’re right, of course. I was letting my worries get the best of me.”

“And that is why we discuss the things we are unsure of,” he says with a nod, offering a small grin himself. 

Dimitri nods back, relaxing ever so slightly more in his seat. He remains silent for a long while, but it’s a thoughtful pause as he gathers his thoughts on what to say rather than having nothing left to discuss. 

“May I ask you another question then?” Dedue nods easily, but Dimitri pauses once again. From the way he sighs, Dedue thinks he realizes there's another flush spreading across his face but has resigned himself to the fact that there’s nothing to be done about it. “Do you… Do you truly think there’s any chance that Claude could reciprocate?”

Truthfully speaking, Dedue thinks he could tell Dimitri that Claude is in love with him every single day, and his liege still wouldn’t believe it. Not for a lack of trust, but because of sheer disbelief. Until he hears it from Claude himself or is otherwise shown as much in some way, Dimitri’s self-deprecation and loathing mean hearing that confirmation from someone else will only come across to him as placation.

Still, he smiles again, this time even a touch wider. Even if Dimitri did believe him, it would mean more coming from Claude, he’s sure. He may not have much experience in love and romance, but he can tell that much. In the meantime, there’s another way to reassure his dearest friend.

“I cannot speak for Claude, but I do know that he cares for you greatly, and that he trusts you more than anyone else. Whatever sort of care that is, there is no doubting that you mean a great deal to him.”

Dimitri’s eye widens, mouth parted in muted surprise, but it soon gives way to a smile, bright and almost hopeful. “... Thank you, Dedue. I still have much to think about, but as always, I feel much better after speaking with you.”

“Of course, Dimitri.” He rests his hand atop Dimitri’s shoulder, encouraging. A little more of that nervous tension seems to seep out of him, and Dedue considers that a victory, however small it is. “That is what friends are for.”

He has no doubt that Dimitri will continue to fret over his feelings and what to do about them, but it’s fine. After seeing him lament for years over the dead, or vengeance, or the nebulous state of his own future, it’s heartening to see him try to chase after his own happiness for once, no matter how hesitantly.

For Dimitri’s sake though, he hopes those worries are laid to rest sooner rather than later. He’d like for his most precious friend to have more reasons to smile so brightly, and he trusts that Claude would help with that.

* * *

Early dawn finds Yuri on his way out of Fhirdiad Castle. It’s generous of the prince—or king, he supposes, even if there’s no archbishop around to formally coronate him—to host all the army officers in his own castle, but he can do without this kind of luxury. The pampered life’s as pleasantly suffocating as he remembers it, too many pleasantries from servants just trying to get by or lesser nobles wanting to cozy up to the king and those close to him. Spending his free time in the slums, among his people who still live there, is far more comfortable in comparison.

But he finds there are other perks to staying in the castle, mainly the oddities one might see at such odd, early hours. Or in this case on this fine morning, so early that the sun has yet to turn the dark blue of the night sky brighter into day, what looks to be a lone wyvern flying above the castle.

He squints. Faerghus isn’t exactly known for its wild wyverns roaming through the skies given how cold the whole nation is, nor is Fhirdiad known for training wyvern riders and corps. The only wyverns that should be here right now are the ones from their own army, and he knows for a fact that even if they’re taken out to fly regularly, they don’t do so this early in the day. Yuri watches as the wyvern and its presumed rider dip behind a spire, their trail lost to him, but he takes note of the direction they were heading, the direction they seemed to come from…

And he smiles. Now _this_ ought to be good.

He spends that day within the castle walls a little longer than he usually would, but there are things to double check, preparations to ensure. After a review of the castle layout with a friendly soldier (to confirm that yes, all the officers were given rooms in the same general section, and no, the royal suite and other rooms affiliated with the royal family are in a different section entirely) and borrowing a pair of opera glasses from Constance (with the assurance that he would bring them back in pristine condition and, as payment for her lending them to him, he’d cut a slice from his future betting pool winnings with her if his hunch proved to be true), he’s all set for tomorrow. 

Just before the crack of dawn the next day, Yuri makes his way out to the same courtyard, Constance’s opera glasses tucked in his pocket, and picks an inconspicuous spot to wait from. That high up, it should be just about impossible to make out anyone in detail down on the ground, but he wouldn’t be Lord of the Underground if he didn’t know how to take precaution. He takes the glasses out, points them where he saw the wyvern yesterday, otherwise in what should be the general direction of the royal suite—and waits.

Sure enough, before long a wyvern swoops by what he can only assume to be a window, wings flapping patiently until someone jumps onto their back, then flies with their rider in tow back around that same spire towards the section of the castle that hosts all the officers. Even with the glasses, it’s too early in the day to make out any details in the dark, pre-dawn sky. He can’t even tell what color the wyvern is, let alone any details in the rider. Whoever’s flying has certainly done everything they can to ensure they stay as anonymous as possible.

But he’d wager all the gold he put down for the betting pool, for all three entries he placed even, that he knows exactly what color the wyvern is and just who’s out riding in the early hours of the morning. The goddess must be looking down at him with a smile because he just watched a very familiar bone-white wyvern with an unmistakable red beard, _Claude_ ’s personal wyvern, fly from the very royal suite where _Dimitri_ sleeps. 

He keeps watch the day after, and the day after that just to make sure. The next day—he doesn’t, an officers’ meeting in the morning meaning even Yuri needs to catch a bit more sleep, but it’s fine. Four early dawns were enough to confirm it. Besides, the past few days have had Dimitri and Claude both practically glowing in their positive attitudes, a far cry from the march to Fhirdiad and the first few days after reclaiming it where they couldn’t seem to stand in the same room without throwing longing glances at each other. It’s almost weirdly adorable, how secret late night trysts have apparently solved their lovesickness. Even if Annette and Dorothea weren’t already planning on writing songs about those two, there’ll be love ballads and folk tunes written about them one day soon enough.

Dimitri and Claude dismiss them all from the meeting, their march back to Garreg Mach scheduled in three days’ time, and the rest of them head to the dining hall for lunch. As for where their two army leaders go, well—he supposes if the king wants to have a private meal with those closest to him, that's well within his rights. As for himself, Yuri always enjoys good company for a meal, and the dining hall provides plenty of that, but more importantly, it means all the most important players will be there. Perfect.

“So,” he starts casually, sliding into a seat next to Hapi and across from Hilda and Lorenz. Sylvain takes his other side, and he knows everyone else in on this will join soon enough. “I have some pertinent information regarding our little wager.”

Hilda lights up immediately and sets her silverware down with a delicate clink. “Ohh, is that so? Do tell!”

“Just a moment. I didn’t say that information would come free, did I?”

Lorenz’s jaw drops open, and Hapi actually _snorts_. Hilda, to her credit, only blinks owlishly, but he thinks it has more to do with sheer disbelief than anything else.

“Yuri,” Lorenz starts, and he can practically _see_ the vein in his forehead starting to throb in irritation, “you can’t be serious.”

Yuri shakes his head, trying not to grin too widely just yet. “I’m afraid so. In trying times such as these, one must do everything they can to scrape by.”

Hapi rests her cheek in her hand, whistling high and long. “Wow, Yuribird, you’re _really_ out to clean the house on this one, aren’t you?”

“Okay, not that I mind forking over a little extra gold if the info’s that good,” Sylvain says, only willing to make use of the perks of being nobility if it benefits him in the most meaningless of ways. He’s always liked that about Sylvain, “but how much are we talking here? And is the info _actually_ that good? How do we know you’re not pulling something on us?”

“Yeah, pal, just how much is this gonna cost? And what about anyone who’s already lost the bet, why should they have to pay?” Balthus asks from his seat on Hilda’s other side. At this point, just about everyone else with a stake in this—or otherwise here for the entertainment—has made it to the table, all with varying degrees of wariness and interest on their faces. Even Dedue raises an eyebrow from his area of the table with Flayn and Annette on either side, the both of them looking damn near close to leaping out of their seats.

“I think you’re the _only_ person who’s already lost, Baltie.” Hilda rolls her eyes, but she’s on the verge of a laugh, too.

“Now, now, I may be here to earn a pretty penny, but I never said I wouldn’t be fair.” Yuri gives his most winning smile. He’s not here to extort his friends after all, and more importantly than that, the sheer number of people involved means he’ll turn a good profit even if he charges dirt cheap prices. “All I want is a simple 1,000G each from anyone who has an active bet placed down. If you’re just here for the ride, then enjoy the show. Be thankful I’m going easy on you, Balthus—” Although he doubts the man hears it under the volume of his own loud whooping. “And excluding you, shady lady—” Indoors as they are, Constance preens smugly and loudly over her exclusion, but he takes it in stride, even as he hears Mercedes ask with a laugh if something happened. It's only fair, after all.

“As for whether or not the information is good or not, well… I’ll leave that up to your discretion on how to judge. Feel free to take your leave if you believe you can’t trust me.”

“This isn’t about the date they went on the other day, is it?” Lysithea asks, eyes judgmental and harsh somehow even with her plate stacked high with Sweet Bun Trio. “Because _everyone’s_ heard about that already.”

Caspar laughs, loud and booming enough to snap Linhardt out of his dozing. “Ain’t that the truth! Even I’ve heard about it—hell, I think the whole _city_ knows. It’s all anyone talks about when I go out!”

“A good guess, I’ll give you that. But no, that’s not what I’m talking about.” He leans in conspiratorially, his smile just an edge sharper. Unsurprisingly, everyone sways forward, too. “I’m talking about something that happened _after_.”

That gets a roar of discussion going, and before long there are piles and piles of coins coming his way. Hapi rolls her eyes before sliding him hers, and Sylvain even pays him triple with a wink and, “A tip for your hard work in keeping us updated.” Once he’s counted and collected, he places everything into his coin purse, the sad thing looking fit to burst. It’s a tidy sum indeed, and it’ll do well for his people back over at the slums. Apparently Dimitri’s and Claude’s little date from the other day took them through the area, one of his men overhearing their conversation on how to improve the conditions there. He needs to speak with Dimitri, but this gold should help further things along in what he evidently has planned.

“Now then,” he starts, folding his hands on the table. Everyone waits with bated breath, even Hapi. “Here’s what happened…”

And that’s how the typically calm, stately dining hall of Fhirdiad Castle all but _explodes_ in a ruckus of noise and shouts, because the whole gang finds out how not even a full day after the pair’s quaint morning date, Claude started visiting Dimitri through his window in the dead of night, swooping in on his wyvern before flying back out the next morning with none the wiser until now. 

It is, according to Dorothea, worthy of its own opera at this point. As far as Ashe is concerned, with Ingrid chiming in to agree, no knightly tale nor chivalrous fable can even begin to compare. Evidently, Ignatz has the inspiration for his next painting, confident it’ll make a true masterpiece. 

As for Yuri? He finds himself inclined to agree with all of them.

* * *

It’s not often that Marianne finds herself assigned to sky watch duty, but it hardly bothers her. The pegasi are just as calming to work with as the horses, and while the wyverns have a slightly different temperament in comparison to her equine friends, she thinks they tend to offer some of the more unique conversations she’s heard. Claude’s white wyvern in particular is interesting, friendly and patient but ever so loyal to Claude. So ultimately, it’s always a pleasant surprise when she has the chance to spend time with the animals here.

What’s even more surprising though is seeing Claude himself assigned to sky watch duty today.

“I volunteered,” Claude explains easily when she asks, a bag of wyvern feed in hand already. His wyvern wastes no time in nosing through it, and Claude shakes his head in a fond, helpless sort of way. “I needed to make sure he’s in good shape for the flying we’ll be doing soon anyways, so I figured I may as well do so in a helpful way.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She thinks back to the latest letter her adoptive father sent her, dated from just two days ago. The final discussions would be held soon to dissolve the Leicester Alliance and begin preparations to have Faerghus reabsorb its former territories. She’d meant to ask Claude about it herself, but there’d never been a good time… And honestly, she wasn’t sure it was really her place to. “You’ll be heading to Derdriu soon then?”

He nods. Judging from his lack of surprise, he must have expected that her adoptive father would tell her, if he didn’t inform Claude of it himself. “I can’t afford to stay there for too long when we need to start heading towards Enbarr, but it shouldn’t take more than a few days anyways. We’ve gotten through the biggest problems already, so all that’s left is formalizing it and drafting up the final proposal.”

She nods silently at that, unsure if she should have any input on that herself as the future Margravine Edmund. It seems strange to think that the entire Alliance will soon only become a thing of the past, although perhaps that’s better in a way for her. For as much as her adoptive father tried to prepare her for the position over the last five years, she always dreaded the idea of attending a roundtable conference as a major figure in it. If the Alliance is dissolved and rejoins the Kingdom, perhaps there won’t be any roundtable conferences to attend in the first place.

But then—that seems terribly unfair of her to hope for. She may have a burden lifted from her, but when she thinks of the immense responsibility Dimitri may soon have placed on his shoulders… 

“Say, Marianne? Can I ask you a favor?”

“Hm?” Honestly, here she is lost in her own thoughts when she’s in the middle of a conversation with Claude. Sometimes she thinks she’s become much better at paying attention to those around her, and other times like now, she can only wonder if she’ll always be so hopeless. “I can only say that I’ll try my best to help… But what is it?”

Claude smiles easily, friendly as ever and with just a touch of warmth to his gaze. It’s easier speaking with him now than it was five years ago as students, but if she’s being honest, it became even easier after he started spending so much time with Dimitri. There’s something about him that’s a little more open, a little less guarded now because of that. 

She doesn’t want to pry, of course, no matter how many times Hilda takes her to the betting pool discussions. It’s really none of her business, and she has nothing to contribute to the conversation anyways. But Claude and Dimitri both just seem to be… happier, these days. Marianne can only speculate why exactly, but if that’s the case, she can only be happy for them in turn.

“It’ll be easy, don’t worry about it. But, well… Would you mind keeping an eye on Dimitri for me?” He scratches at his nose for a moment, his gaze averted to his wyvern for briefly before he looks back at her, but he seems… almost hesitant. “I just want to make sure he’s doing alright while I’m gone, not overworking himself or anything.”

“Oh, of course. I don’t mind at all, but… Wouldn’t it be better to ask someone else? Perhaps Dedue or Mercedes?” Or any number of other people, she thinks. Despite how lost Dimitri once was, there’s really no shortage of people who care for him. His former classmates especially are only all too eager to check up on him or drag him away from paperwork for mealtimes. She can only imagine how heavy his burdens are, but now, it seems like he’s learning to carry them better.

Honestly, it gives her a little hope for herself, too. 

Claude’s smile warms, the way it does when… When he’s looking at Dimitri, she realizes. When he’s thinking of him, or talking to him, or in this case, speaking of him. “Trust me, I know he’s got plenty of people looking out for him, I do. Still, it would reassure me if I could hear back from you that he’s okay. I know you two get along pretty well.”

They… do, she supposes, although it’s still something of a strange thought to come to, even for herself. Ultimately though, there’s no one else she can think of who seems to understand so well just how heavy life, _living_ , can be. It’s not a position or understanding she would wish on anyone, and she could never fault someone for not knowing. Even so, she takes comfort in the idea that she’s not as alone in that feeling as she once thought she was, that even if few others understand that about her, at least Dimitri does.

—And perhaps few others understand that about Dimitri. Maybe that’s why Claude is asking her of all people.

“I’m not sure if I’ll really be able to do much, but… Leave it to me, Claude. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

There’s an almost imperceptible sigh from Claude, distinct in its relief despite how quiet it is. She doesn’t think she even would have heard it if not for their location, silent save for the soft movements of the pegasi and wyverns here. “Thank you. Really, I mean it.”

She smiles, pleased she can help even if it’s in such a small matter. Still, she wonders… If Claude really does care for Dimitri the way they all suspect, he must be aware of the sort of burdens he carries, likely even better than she does. Yet despite that, he would put the entire weight of the Alliance upon Dimitri’s shoulders. It seems… a little strange, she supposes. Perhaps unfair, even.

But Claude would never be so cruel as to cast off a burden only to make someone else carry it for him, least of all someone he cares for. She knows that.

“Your business in Derdriu… Once it’s over and you return, you’ll be handing it over, correct?”

He nods, albeit carefully. It’s a bit of a delicate topic after all, if only because she knows this information shouldn’t be known to anyone outside of those who participate in the roundtable conferences. She pauses for a moment though, thinking of how best to phrase just what exactly she means to ask… But she thinks on what the real root of the matter is, and from there, the words come naturally to her.

“You really do believe in Dimitri, don’t you?”

For just a brief moment, Claude almost looks so surprised, though it happens so fast that she can’t be sure she saw correctly. But when he speaks—it’s soft, warm. There’s no mistaking anything about his tone.

“… Yeah, I do. More than anyone else.”

Claude’s answer is—honest. Sincere. It might be the most genuine thing she’s ever heard him say.

So she smiles.

Everyone has their suspicions on just what’s going on between the two of them, herself included, but this is more than enough for her. She’s content with the knowledge that whatever it is exactly, it does good for the both of them. That’s all she needs to know.

(But later when the two of them fly easily around the monastery for their actual assigned duty of the day, if Claude mentions casually, subtly, that he’s thinking of getting some kind of souvenir for Dimitri from Derdriu, and if Marianne offhandedly mentions that it _is_ the Garland Moon after all, that if there was ever a time to be giving gifts to those close to you then it was surely now, well.

Marianne doesn’t _mind_ knowing more, she supposes. Besides, she knows how to keep a secret.)

* * *

“Pleasure doing business with you as always, Anna.”

“Oh no, the pleasure’s all mine,” Anna says, eagerly counting through her bullions. War really isn’t her favorite way to turn a profit, but there’s no denying the flow of gold that comes through for merchants like her. Still, the sooner those kids can make use of these supplies and end the war, the better. Five years of it has been five too many.

“Say, I just remembered,” the other merchant’s voice cuts in, and Anna sets aside the money for now. After all her years, she knows what it sounds like when something can potentially lead to another profit. “Have you seen the king for yourself lately? Or the Alliance leader at that?”

She raises her brow, her finger resting on her cheek. “Sure, I’ve seen them around. Why do you ask?”

“They’re the talk of the town back in Fhirdiad, or hell, maybe all of Faerghus. Apparently some folks saw them out on a date after they liberated the city, and now they’re all anyone talks about. After everything I’ve heard, I’m curious myself if either one of ‘em’s proposed yet.”

Oh. Now _this_ is the kind of business Anna likes dealing in. She grins.

“I _might_ have some information about that… For a price.”

The good people of Faerghus have something to smile about, she makes a little extra coin, it’s a win-win situation for everyone. She’s heard about the betting pool, and there’s no doubt it’ll turn out a tidy sum of money for someone there. Even Yuri was asking her for intel on Dimitri and Claude, dead-set on making bank off of it. The kid’s an amateur though, he doesn’t have the years and years of experience Anna has.

Everyone knows the real g’s are made off of information trading.

* * *

The closer they draw to departing Garreg Mach and marching towards Enbarr, the more the betting pool comes up during every dining hall meal. For some, the time limit on their bets have long since passed, nothing left to do but lament the loss of their coin. For others, that deadline is fast approaching, and there’s a good deal of debate on the merits of trying to speed things along themselves. Maybe they should lock the two in a closet together somehow, or ensure that they share a tent and bedroll during the upcoming march. At one point, someone asks desperately if Dimitri and Claude could be convinced to play a game of spin the bottle, with them two as the only participants.

Of course, it all assumes that the two _aren’t_ together already, and that sparks the fiercest arguments. After all, they sleep in the same bed for the goddess’s sake, they haven’t gone a single night together in Garreg Mach now without sharing a room, and Claude essentially sent Dimitri love letters when he was gone for Alliance matters in Derdriu. Is that not being “together” in all but name? Is that not intimacy and romance to the highest degree? Why would they be doing those things if they weren’t already together?

But the rules _clearly state_ (never mind that there are no rules written down anywhere) that they qualify as being “together” only after either a confession of love has happened or once they’ve kissed. Anything less than those things simply doesn’t count, and besides, if Dimitri and Claude _were_ together, surely it would show—hands linked together, stolen kisses here and there, even just Claude flirting with Dimitri more overtly. There’s no way the two of them would still be holding back if they were actually together, not after all the longing glances they’ve thrown each other. As it is, they act the same as they ever did: dancing around each other in restrained, nearly-desperate pining.

Yet who’s to say that there _hasn’t_ been a confession of love or stolen kisses already? Anything could have happened those nights where Claude flew to Dimitri’s rooms in Fhirdiad, and none of them would be the wiser. There they were having clandestine midnight trysts in the dark of night, and all of them are supposed to believe that the most they did was discuss politics under the moonlight and sleep chastely next to one another with at least a foot of space between them. As if, they’re all adults here, and they can acknowledge the fact that there’s absolutely no way that’s all that happened during those nights in Fhirdiad.

The conversations go in circles around and around. No one can agree on the terms anymore—if they ever truly did to begin with, in all honesty—but to be fair, no one _really_ knows just what happened between those two in Fhirdiad. Or if anyone does (and all eyes go to Dedue and Hilda), no one is sharing. The best they can settle on is that they’ll find out if there’s a winner to the betting pool whenever their former house leaders say something themselves, whether it’s an announcement the day of it happening or it turns out that they’ve been hiding a relationship since—who even knows, since the day Claude found Dimitri in the Goddess Tower.

Little do any of them know, of course, that Dimitri and Claude already _are_ together at this point, and that there’s a definite winner for the betting pool. They’re just better at discretion than anyone seems to be willing to give them credit for.

Well, there’s a winner for the first round at least. The jury’s still out on Yuri’s other two rounds, but it’s the unknown that makes it all so fun anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> \- tbh i could've written like a dozen other little tidbits but 1) i was running on a deadline, 2) THIS THING IS ALREADY WAY MORE MASSIVE THAN I PLANNED OR EVEN *WANTED*, GOOD GRIEF.  
> \- but also please imagine that rodrigue is constantly slipping claude embarrassing kid dimitri stories to further endear claude to dimitri (not that claude needs it), he can tell the boy's good for his pseudo-third-son. felix blows a gasket at this of course because embarrassing kid dimitri stories are also embarrassing kid *felix* stories by default. this is part of why he wants absolutely nothing to do with the love story of the century.  
> \- please do not ask me about time/distance/travel in this fic because i don't know, game mechanics mean you can get from garreg mach to like fhirdiad or derdriu in the span of a single day and that just seemed silly to me.


End file.
